This story is about a young man I met many, many years ago. Life goes from bad to worse, when one studies the black arts. No, I am not talking about myself.
I guess I need to start at the beginning. Lawrence was just 19. In his early years, he ran with the Goth crowd. One unfortunate day, he took it a step further.
It was the day he decided to practice witchcraft. It gets worse. The study of witchcraft took him into Satanism. Yes, you read it right. This 19 year old man, he worshiped Satan.
I tried to help him walk away but he was trapped. Trapped by the beliefs he could get all he ever wanted in life, by submitting to the power of the Dark Lord.
He was so fascinated by the ritualistic ceremonies, that he didn't see it coming. The depression, the endless desire for sleep. After all, none of dreams were coming through.
The potions weren't helping, the drug and alcohol parties, the other stuff that I won't bring up here. He was lost, and he didn't want my help. All I could do was watch, wait, and pray for his Soul.
About a year and half later, I got a call from a family friend. It wasn't good news. Lawrence had committed suicide and could I come to the cemetery for the funeral and then the burial. I said I would catch the next flight out.
My heart was heavy for this boy and for his family. Everybody needs to think long and hard about how their actions have a cause and effect. Suicide affects the family members and friends... For the rest of their days. I was heartbroken and angry, all at the same time.
When I flew in, a relative of Lawrence's picked me up. Her eyes were red rimmed from weeping and there wasn't a thing I could do to make it better. When we got to the cemetery it was early afternoon and the service was scheduled for three p.m. The Parish priest was already there and he was looking over some notes as we walked up.
As the time arrived and people surrounded the coffin of this boy/man. I looked into the haunted faces of those left behind. I was so angry with Lawrence and prayed he made peace with God, before he took his own life.
The Priest shared some tidbits about Lawrence's life and went into some scripture. As soon as the words left his mouth, the cawing began. I can only describe what happened next as eerie. A sharp icy cold wind whipped around our bodies as birds arrived in droves.
Big black Ravens? Crows? Big Black Birds were landing all over the place. I am not sure what they were but they landed on the graves, on the grassy areas surrounding us and sitting on headstones. It was like a scene out of the movie, "The Birds".
My heart sank. I knew what this meant and I would never share this with the family. The cawing, screaming noise began and didn't end until the service was over. The birds... They quietly flew away.
I watched Lawrence's mother being held up as she said her last goodbye to her only boy.
I couldn't be the one to tell her... He hadn't made peace with God...
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